


Help me up: AusSwiss

by ko_writes



Series: Help me up [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Anorexia, Biting, Body Dysmorphic Disorder, Body Image, Eating Disorders, M/M, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Harm, Stress, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-12
Packaged: 2018-04-30 21:36:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5180630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ko_writes/pseuds/ko_writes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Second story in 'Help Me Up'. Switzerland has an unhealthy way of dealing with stress, and Austria thinks very little about himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

   He was always so strong. He always wanted to protect first Austria, then Lichtenstein. He had a big heart, even if he pretended to be an asshole, but the same was true for Austria.

   They’re on better terms now; maybe not as close as they had been in those glorious childhood days, but they were getting there. Roderich and Vash are finally burying their hatchets and becoming closer.

   It sounds perfect, doesn’t it? Austria and Switzerland reunited? But, although close, they have their tensions.

   Never will they say they resent each other. No, not anymore. They stress over each other, their politics, governments and their own personal problems; but they talk.

   They won’t reach breaking point again.

   Vash tells himself this again and again, but bite marks purple on his arms and scratches from scissors, rusty nails and tarnished drawing pins stretch along his thighs and abdomen.

   It’s just a reaction to stress, nothing more. He’s ok, will be ok. He’s just like an old rag doll, losing his stuffing in places but still in one piece; those dolls are tough if you’ll let them be.

   But Roderich keeps trying to convince him to let him be the strong one now, to let go and trust.

   He can’t do that, won’t do that; Roderich is a doll with even less stuffing. It’ll eat him from the inside out, like acid; and Vash isn’t so sure that isn’t happening already.

   He’s pulled up against a warm chest, and his back is imprinted with the bone bars of the heart’s cage. A poetic and possibly melodramatic way to put it, perhaps, but the one he was being pulled against could certainly be those things; and his heart could certainly be caged.

   Long, dexterous fingers gently eased the pale flesh of Vash’s arm from between the Swiss man’s teeth.

   “You were biting yourself again,” Roderich informs, but his tone is as soft as could be.

   Purple crescents, almost making a circle, mar his skin. He sighs and scratches the back of his neck.

   “Sorry…” He mumbles, eyes cast down to the worn floorboards so that his gaze won’t meet worried violet.

   He can feel the weight of that gaze.

   “I made Dobos Torte,” The Austria sighs. There’s a small smile in his voice, somewhere, and he rubs up and down Vash’s arms with that smooth touch, running over bruising bite marks of various colours and ages. The tick tension lapsed for a moment, until Vash felt those clover lips pressed to his neck; he knew he’d have a mark from Roderich’s makeup.

   “Will you eat any?” Vash asks.

   Silence echoes through the room and the lips on his neck freeze. The bony grip loosens, and Vash stands.

   The cold strikes him first. The Austrian gives off heat like a radiator, having little insulation to help him keep the warmth within his own body.

   The second feeling is something akin to loneliness; which is ridiculous, because Roderich’s only on the floor, he’s only standing.

   “Vash?” Roderich inquires as the man in question turns towards the door.

   “I’ve told you before; I’m fine, no cosy allowed,” He huffs, but he feels an icy pang in his chest.

   He leaves and closes the bedroom door behind him. Not _their_ bedroom door, they’re still working towards that. He wishes to hear a retort, a protest, anything.

   Thanks to that cold dismissal, they may be even further away now. There are times where they are perfectly loving towards each other, but this is not one of them.

   Vash walks down the worn hallway, pretending he can’t hear the choked down sobs emanating from behind the bedroom door.


	2. Austria's disorder

   Cooking is creating a melody - no, a _symphony_ of flavours. Different elements combine into a thing of beauty, working together for the enjoyment of the recipient.

   Cooking is texture, colour and smell, it is art! It is all Roderich thinks about!

   However, there is a time when he realises the surplus of food. He can't have this poison in his house.

   Cooking is art, but it is also arsenic. It is deadly. It is toxic. It is nothing he would wish on himself while he is sound of mind.

   Cooking leads to food, and food leads to eating; which is inexcusable. Food and eating are his enemies, the ones he shall fight alone and be victorious over; he has lost many a battle in the past, but this is one he will win.

   Even if he is nothing but plain, he will no longer let his hulking, flabby body stand in the way of perfection. After all, plainness has it's cures; make up and, possibly, surgery - Feliciano had work done on his nose, and it's a masterpiece.

   Roderich never really had the gift of plainness, really. Plainness carries a certain charm; look at Ukraine, for an example. If you ignore her... assets, she has a charming simplicity to her looks. He is just ugly, really.

   Roderich picks his glasses, the frames that do nothing other than distract from his hideousness, and slides them onto his nose. He stares deeper into the bathroom mirror, brushing yet more concealer under his eyes to hide the dark circles that betray his nights of insomnia.

   He shivers in the cold air of the bathroom - as he shivers everywhere, the cold frozen into his bones - and the downy hair on his arms raise into goose bumps.

   Next, rouge. Rosy cheeks represent joy, youth and warmth. All he lost long ago, but the sickly pallor he has isn't in fashion at all; the white lead paint hasn't gone near a face in hundreds of years.

   He smells food in the kitchen and terror rises; Vash is cooking. Vash only cooks for two, and it's breakfast time.

   He smears red-tinted lip balm on his chapped, overly pale lips and nods. Yes, fine, as good as he'll ever get. After an hour - although part of that was staring into space - his face, his mask, is finished.

   Next, he goes to his bedroom; it's time to dress. He changes out of his moth-eaten pyjamas and pulls on his patched underwear. Then, he picks up the corset.

   Once upon a time, his obsession with sliming that awful bulge in his stomach had taken him to male corsetry. It had begun with a wide, re-enforced belt that saved away a few inches; it had been all the rage, not to mention being a God-send for the cavalry as it protected their kidneys and had a fair amount of protection should they fall. From the moment he slipped it on, he loved it; and that love only progressed as the innovation of the male corset grew into an almost full-torso affair, stopping just underneath the pectoral area.

   Now, his corset was tight, tight, so tight. If he ate too much, he fainted; but that wasn't really an issue for him.

   He slipped it on and pulled at the laces himself. Squeezing, compressing; good. Maybe if he pulled hard enough, he'll turn into a diamond; he thought sarcastically. As if he could ever be a diamond, compressed carbon or not.

   There was a knock at the door. Tap, tap, tap; uniform and precise. Vash.

   "Roderich? Are you alright?" He called through the door.

   He would of answered Vash, but it's hard to talk when squeezing your fat self into a corset. He gasped and panted, trying to make the contraption tighter. He then tied it off quickly.

   "Roddy, if you don't answer me, I'll -"

   "What is it, Vash?" He questioned, still panting slightly, "I'm just getting ready, making myself not look like the wrong end of a horse."

   Silence. Peace. Calm.

   "Roddy, we need to talk about this; I've been ignoring it for far too long."

   Panic.

* * *

 

   The kitchen smelled of cheese. More specifically, cheese fondue.

   "Come, let's have something to eat," Vash sighed, and attempted smile forming on his lips, but Roderich could only focus on the bile edging its way up his oesophagus at the thought.

   "No thank you, I have my corset on; you know that if I eat I'll faint," He waved away, as if it was insignificant.

   Vash huffed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm not good at these things..." The Swiss man mumbled, his shirtsleeve falling down a little to reveal a new bite mark.

   "Oh, Vash..." Roderich breathed, carefully enveloping him in an embrace, "It's ok."

   "Please eat..." He heard Vash mumble into his shoulder, "Please, I can feel your bones."

   "N-no," Roderich denied, "I'm fine, you know I don't eat breakfast -"

   "Or lunch, or dinner," The other man interrupted, pushing him away, "It's dangerous to be so thin, you're hurting yourself. And don't get me started on the corset -"

   "There is nothing wrong with the corset!" He snapped.

   "You tie it far to tight! Those things can deform ribs and displace organs!" Vash informed, "You don't exactly have a lot to protect you!"

   "I don't have a problem!" Roderich yelled, tears forming in his eyes, "I'm fat and ugly and I'm just trying to fix that! Go yell at Feliciano, he's had a nose job and I heard he wants more work done; go lecture him about the dangers of plastic surgery!"

   A pin could have dropped. It was so quiet, so stifling.

   Roderich swiped at his eyes, irritated. "I don't... want to eat," He stated, his voice shaking, "I don't want to be this big anymore."

   Vash, awkwardly and much to his own embarrassment, drew Roderich in for another hug. Affection was still a bit difficult for him, but he was getting better.

   "You're beautiful, Roddy. I promise. You're skin and bone, not fat at all," Vash soothed, "You don't need the makeup, or to starve yourself. You don't need the corset. Please, just... just..."

   Vash's voice trailed off as he rubbed Roderich's shaking shoulders. "I... I... don't..." The Austrian sobbed, fear in his tone. Vash just kept rubbing his back, whispering sweet nothings to him.

   "I'm not asking a lot, but just try to eat something... not for me, but your beautiful self," Vash breathed, kissing Roderich's cheek tenderly.

   They had moments where they just walked away from each other, this was not one of those moments. Instead, Vash dried Roderich's tears and sat him down at the table, ready for the first step to making the most important person in his life better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rushed ending is rushed. I seem to have puked my own insecurities all over Roderich, and my problems all over Vash; I'm so sorry, babies D:
> 
> Switzerland gets very stressed out in the anime (I haven't read enough of the manga to know), and it's a reaction some people can have when stressed; self harm is not only caused by depression. Also, I've always had the impression that proper affection is difficult for Vash (again, from the anime), I don't know if anyone else shares that opinion.
> 
> It's cannon that Austria thinks he looks plain (I personally think he looks damn fine!), gets worn out really easily and wears a corset, and my imagination is over-active.
> 
> And the next one is GerIta! Or ItaGer, as the order will be. 
> 
> Hywl fawr, cariadau!

**Author's Note:**

> https://www.pinterest.com/pin/110408628340032687/ - Dobos Torte, looks so delicious.


End file.
